


Sunny Days are Here Again

by Anonymouscosmos



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Elder thirst is real, F/M, Smut, Unprotected Sex, a little bossy, a little hair pulling, at least my shaky hands managed paragraphs, im not sure what to tag this with, very softly dominant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26395285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymouscosmos/pseuds/Anonymouscosmos
Summary: A filthy thing I wrote and feel apologetic about, but here we are. Smut with some backstory. But let's not fool ourselves on the focal point here.
Relationships: Arthur Maxson/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 30
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is pure, unadulterated trash. It's a deviation from my usual fare, but the thirst gets us all in the end. I don't think I'll add more, but who knows.  
> ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The day had not gone well. Per the usual, Sunny’s mouth had gotten her in some deep shit. That inflexible buffoon Maxson had lectured her on the reasons she should have had the Brotherhood build the teleporter, and then reamed her a new one for giving Ingram a _copy_ of the holo tape full of Institute information rather than an original. He expected everything she did be exclusively for the _Brotherhood_ . He couldn’t understand that she might have priorities other than the Brotherhood. Sunny was the live-and-let-live type, and totalitarian mentalities rubbed her the wrong way. Being rubbed the wrong way made Sunny snappish and sarcastic...two things the _great_ Elder Maxson did not appreciate, apparently. He’d been inches from her face, practically roaring at her. In Sunny’s mind she imagined her hair blowing out behind her from the force of his wrathful exhalations.

Rather than do the polite thing - or the right thing, considering he was technically a superior officer - and back down, try to make peace... Sunny had defended her position. And ...maybe sort of might have... just a little… questioned his worthiness to lead, followed by a jab about the Prydwen being some sort of compensation. Oh, he had been _pissed._ He had gone quiet, then, a vein throbbing in his forehead and the deadly expression in his eyes the only indicators of his fury. She’d almost shrank back. Almost. But Sunny wasn’t the type to back down from a fight, and so with her usual bravado she...laughed. Right in his face. Her best scornful laugh. Then she turned on her heel, her long hair whisking against his face with the force of her head snapping, and marched out. His words caught her at the door, low and heavy with carefully bridled anger.

“We will discuss this later, Paladin. As far as I am concerned, you are on very thin ice. I don’t take this kind of insubordination lightly - whether you have a way into the Institute or not.”

Frankly, Sunny was more than a little impressed at his ability to contain himself. He was shockingly young for his position. His place as Elder had aged him in a way that was mostly contained to his eyes. They were not the eyes of a young man. He had seen much death, buried many soldiers, and put many more enemies in the ground himself. Sunny could relate. She wasn’t his senior by much, at 23, but her time in the Wasteland had changed her. One could only face down so many deathclaws, super mutants, raiders, gunners, rad scorpions, feral ghouls, blood bugs, and so forth without it starting to warp your sensibilities in a serious way. Sunny was famous for a temper that matched her bright ginger hair. She’d always been a hot head, though her service in the US Army had tempered it a smidge. 

In truth, she had enjoyed her time in the Wasteland. She savored her freedom in choice. She made her own decisions, called her own shots, and never did anything she didn’t feel like doing. Her life before the ice box had been… chaotic at best. When that woman had shown up on their doorstep, claiming her four month old baby was Nate’s, Sunny had walked right out the door. Didn’t utter a word or look back at the confused woman. Just...walked out. Life didn’t often hand you a get-out-of-jail free card, and with proof of Nate’s infidelity looking up at her from a powder blue blanket, Sunny took that card and ran. Marrying Nate had been a mistake. Getting married in general, truthfully, had been a mistake. She’d had a serious lapse of judgement, thinking she could settle down into that American ideal. Truthfully, it bored her to tears and she preferred a life of adventure. And now, in this new world, she was without a superior. She was beholden to no man. She might let Maxson think he was her superior, but he wasn’t. The only drum she marched to was her own. He was flattering himself if he thought she would fall in line with the rest of his tin soldiers.

What were the odds, that on the very day she brought Nate the divorce papers to sign, the world decided to go up in smoke. Or, well, mushroom clouds. He’d been wallowing on the couch, stinking of late night whiskey and stale cigarettes - unwashed and still in his pajamas - when Sunny let herself in. She hadn’t even been able to explain her reason for the visit or open the folder under her arm. He’d launched right into a sniveling speech of _Please, Sunny. I’m so sorry, Sunny. It was a stupid mistake. The bachelor party went too far. I had no idea. I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing. Please, Sunny, I love you. You’re the only woman I want._ As though being his consolation prize when the stripper romance didn’t work out was a compliment. Ha.

She’d been gearing up to deck him when the sirens began to wail, and Nate had lost himself - grabbing her by the hand and dragging her with him, his squalling brat in his arms. While Sunny didn’t relish the thought of being trapped in a vault with that jackass, she wasn’t going to turn down a free ride to safety. She’d punch him in the nose properly later, when there was time.

There was some poetic justice to waking up in time to watch the strange scarred man shoot Nate point blank and snatch his child, though she did feel bad for the kid. It wasn’t his fault his dad was a prick and some shadow organization had kidnapped him. She’d have to follow up on that whole mess another time. You know, when she wasn’t frozen like a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

For a while, after waking up, she’d had bigger fish to fry. Literally, even. Mirelurk cakes were a delicacy. She’d joined the Minutemen, saved a bunch of settlers from being eaten by super mutants or robbed blind by raiders, joined the Brotherhood and chased down a bunch of dead guys who’d been left to rot three years ago, found the guy with the scar and given him the what-for… She’d been busy. Up until this blow-up with His Royal Highness the Lord Maxson of Brotherhoodery, she’d been rather having the time of her life. Some people had to suck all the fun out of things. Like Paladin Danse, the poster child for the Brotherhood. That wasn’t fair, though, she knew. Danse was a good egg, just chose questionable company. She wondered if she’d ever see him again, once Maxson gave her the boot.

When she’d first met Maxson, she’d immediately found him alluring. He was _exactly_ her type. Tall, bearded, heavily muscled, full of bluster and with a touch of a god complex. She was nothing if not predictable, she supposed, thinking back to her days of carousing with Navy SEALs on more than one occasion. He might have had excellent control over himself, but she’d seen a similar glint in his eyes as he surveyed her in return. The spark had been quickly extinguished as he transitioned quickly into his big scary commander face, but it had been there. Each time she returned to the Prydwen, she’d caught it again. Little flashes of something there, that he quickly obscured. She found it deeply amusing, and mentally toyed with the prospective challenge. Easier thought than done. There were always others around. Maxson was a busy man. She settled for occasionally leaving her uniform unzipped a little too low to be considered decent, and leaning over to pet Dogmeat strategically. Those hawk-like eyes didn’t miss a single detail of anything, she knew. He could hide away in his mental ivory tower, but he was a hot-blooded human being just like any other man.

Deep in her thoughts, she meandered into the mess hall and grabbed a glass of bourbon. And then another. And one more, for good measure. If she was about to be ousted by the order, she might as well celebrate her pre-freedom. By the bottom of the third glass, her blood was fire in her veins. The bourbon was burning through her nerve endings like a firework had gone off in her chest. She stumbled down the hall, a bit drunk, knocked open the door of her room, and in what felt like one smooth gesture but was likely more stumbling about, stepped out of her boots and pants and flopped face-down on her bed. She was out like a light in a matter of minutes.

She awoke some hours later to a presence in her room. She lifted her head groggily, recognized the outline in the doorway, and flopped her head right back down.

“The fuck do you want, Arthur?” She grumbled into the pillow.

Heavy steps came closer to the bed.

“ _Paladin_ ,” his voice emphasizing the title, a subtle chastising for dropping formality with him. “Would you care to explain what you’re doing in _my_ quarters?”

The last two words of that sentence took a moment to make it through her sleepy haze. _Oh, shit._ She didn’t have a personal cabin, duh. She slept on the deck with the others. Well, she was here, she was comfy, and she was going to get tossed off the Prydwen - probably literally - soon, so fuck it. She was going to stay put. What did she have to lose?

“Bugger off. I’m trying to sleep,” she replied sleepily, wallowing further into the blankets to make a point. Silence answered her, though she knew he hadn’t moved. She could hear his breathing - somewhat strained. God, he must be extra mad now. She felt her lips curl into a smile against the pillow.

“Enjoying the view too much to leave?” She mumbled, her eyelids heavy and slowly closing again. Arthur had good taste, this bed was nice and soft.

Cool fingers grazed the dip of her lower back, sliding slowly up and over the curve of her ass. _Woah. Well, that’s an interesting development._

“And if I am?” his low rumble retorted. His fingers gripped one cheek, kneading it experimentally as though testing the firmness of it. 

She was definitely awake now, heat flooding her body in response to the gentle touches. She feigned disinterest, stretching languidly and yawning.

“You’d hardly be the first, big boy. Drink it in while you can.” She wasn’t about to discourage this delicious moment.

He made a little humming sound, as though considering this offer, and continued his exploration - squeezing the other cheek, then sliding his hand down along one smooth thigh, slipping inward and squeezing the inside of it. Her body screamed for more, the semi-dormant lust for him roaring to the surface. She contained it, not making a sound and instead casting a bored look over her shoulder at him. He rose to his full height, taking his hand away, and moved towards the door. Sunny felt disappointed. He was far too easy to scare off. How boring. But then she jumped a little as he slammed the door loudly, and turned back to face her. _Oh, shit._ So the beast didn’t scare easily after all. Anticipation squirmed in her gut as he drew near to the bed again.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he placed a knee on the edge of it - and then he was straddling her thighs, sitting back on his heels and effectively pinning her legs down. She resisted the urge to squirm. She wanted to see where this train went. _All aboard_ . He grabbed a handful of ass on each side, squeezing hard, before transitioning his hands up to the taper of her waist, testing the feel of her and grunting in satisfaction at what he found. Her body was lithe, lean, but soft where it mattered. He greedily explored her, while she feigned mildly tolerating it. He pushed her white undershirt up along her back, exposing the expanse of skin beneath. She made no move to assist him in removing it, and he growled angrily and with two hands, ripped it in half. The worn fabric offered little resistance to the abuse. _Okay, that was fucking hot._ She arched her back, just enough to lift her ass up to press into him. A little encouragement was fine, she supposed.

He was certainly encouraged. He leaned forward, pressing hot, wet kisses along her spine while pulling her panties down her thighs. Her body shuddered involuntarily as her nerve endings danced under the brush of his beard against her skin. His left arm came up, cupping the swell of her breast, squeezing just hard enough. She let out a little groan when he pinched her nipple between his index finger and thumb.

“What was it you asked me, when I came in here?” He whispered through clenched teeth, right against her ear. She was having a mighty difficult time focusing at the moment, feeling his hard length pressed against her. Good christ, _that_ was impressive.

“I don’t remember,” she gasped out. He squeezed harder, and she squirmed. “Fuck, _okay_ , I asked you what you wanted.”

The pressure lessened and he rocked his hips, grinding against her. “And what do you _think_ I want?”

If he was expecting an answer, he didn’t wait for it. With his right hand, he buried his fingers in her hair - pulling her head back, and buried his face in her neck. His left hand released her breast, trailing down over her body again and then sliding up between her thighs. Two callused fingers parted her, sliding into her roughly. They found little resistance. She was slick and wet and absolutely desperate for him now. She outright moaned, and he tightened his grip in her hair.

“It’s a small ship, _Paladin_. You’d best shut your fucking mouth unless you want everyone to know what I’m doing to you,” a snarling whisper as he gently bit her earlobe. She bit her cheek to stop the needy sound in her throat as his fingers worked away inside her. She felt herself dripping around them, rivulets snaking down around his hand and down her thighs. He released her hair and straightened, letting her fall back to the pillow but never stopping the rhythm of stroking her. She heard him unzipping, felt him releasing himself. She groaned into the pillow. She wouldn’t beg him, but she wanted to. She wanted to scream at him to get it over with and fuck her silly. 

He slowly withdrew his fingers from inside her, and she sucked in a whimpery breath at the sensation of them leaving. 

“I told you to be quiet,” he admonished, and pulled her head back again - jamming his fingers, wet with her arousal, into her mouth to silence her. She moaned and sucked at them, frenzied with need. 

She felt him press himself to her - the thick head of his cock held against her entrance, but not going further. She wiggled against him, and he gave her a resounding smack across the ass. _That_ was going to leave one hell of a handprint. He pulled his fingers from her greedy mouth.

“Ask me for it,” he ordered, his breathing ragged. She could feel the pulse of him against her and it threatened to undo her. He shifted a little, nudging himself just a fraction farther into her. She was _enraged_ with frustration. She shook her head. He relaxed, pulling away from her until he was no longer pressing against her. She felt him stroking himself, utterly unconcerned with her state. She peered over her shoulder at him, her eyes widening at his girth as he lazily slid his hand up and down the length of himself. His lips curled into a derisive little smile. Smug. He was _smug._

“Ask me for it,” he repeated. 

“Please,” she said stiffly. 

“Please, _what_.” 

“Please fuck me.” He was seriously pissing her off now.

“Please fuck me....” his voice trailed off with implication.

She could scream. The sensation of his languid strokes, his knuckles brushing against her thigh, was driving her mad.

“Please fuck me, _Elder Maxson._ ” 

He let out a pleased hum. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He repositioned himself at her opening again, moving his cock around in pleasant little circles for a moment - using her desire to lubricate himself. She was shivering with her need now. His hands moved up, gripped her hips tightly, thumbs pressing into the dimples of her back. “But this is,” he whispered in an almost caressing way, before shoving his thick cock into her so hard and fast and deep the pillow was the only thing that stopped her scream of pleasure. _There was no way somebody on the ship didn’t hear that._ Somehow the thought excited her even more. She imagined her screams echoing down the halls as Arthur Maxson, Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, fucked her brains out and she shuddered again.

His motions were torturous. After the initial thrust, he slowed down - his strokes long and slow. He was teasing her and enjoying himself. She supposed it was his revenge on her for mouthing off earlier, and it was a solid plan. She drowned her anguished cries into the pillow as he slid into her inch by inch and drew out inch by inch. When he grew tired of that game, he toyed with her by filling her entirely - hitting bottom and making her moan in a mix of pleasure and pain - before drawing out entirely. Then he’d make her beg him to come back, to fill her again, and after her pleas became truly earnest he’d sheath himself again. Twice, three times, she got close to orgasm - and then he’d draw back as she began to tighten, denying her the release of it. She couldn’t say how long he tortured her so, but she was quite literally crying with frustration by the end of it.

When she’d sagged in despair, he at last decided to have pity on her.

“Are you sorry for being insubordinate?” He crooned, dragging his nails softly down her back. She nodded, her face wet, humiliated by her powerlessness.

“I’m sorry, Elder Maxson,” she whispered. 

“Good. Don’t do it again. If you do, I’ll have to take it as a message that you want more of this.” 

_Oh, god, but she did. Again and again._ But she didn’t say that. Only nodded obediently.

This time, he fucked her the way she’d wanted him to. He lifted her to her knees, shoving them apart and pushing her head down into the pillow again, before jamming his full length back into her - again and again, jackhammering her with an utter mercilessness that both terrified her and left her sobbing senselessly into the pillow with delight. She felt herself tighten as the tension built within her once more, and this time he didn’t pull away. He continued pounding her as she shuddered and spasmed and writhed around his shaft. She gasped for air in the torrent of release, felt herself going limp and boneless. But he was not done, yet, and he continued to yank her back onto him despite her little mewls of protest. She felt him swelling even larger, his rhythm becoming jerky and his breathing stuttering as he reached his peak. She bit her hand to silence herself and she felt the incredible volume of his load pump into her, moaning as he buried deep inside her, felt it gushing about his cock as he got in a few final thrusts. He held her there in position for a minute, an occasional twitch or final tremor passing through him, before finally releasing his hold and letting himself slip out of her. 

She made as though to move, and he stopped her with one hand on her leg. _He wasn’t done yet?_ Her legs were shaking with the effort of keeping her ass in the air without his hands on her hips to support her. She felt his hand exploring her again, shifting between her thighs, cradling her swollen labia. She was slick with both of their fluids, her inner thighs wet with it. He slid his thumb inside her, eliciting a little whimper from her, swirling it around. A primal, guttural grunt rising from him as he felt his come leaking out from inside her.

With one final approving slap on her ass, he rose from the bed - pulling his pants up again and zipping them before moving to the door. She allowed herself to fall over at last, entirely spent. If he’d been smug before, she didn’t know what to call him now. His eyes roamed over her in her exhausted state. Then he smirked at her, and left - slamming the door behind himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, more trash. Happy Saturday!
> 
> Maxy boy gets a little jealous and a little possessive. :B

Sunny sauntered back into the old state house and flopped down on Hancock’s couch. He was laid out on the opposite couch, hazy in the glow of the Jet he’d just taken.

"Well, what did you find?” he asked, not breaking his reverent staring at the ceiling.

“Sooo...Yeah, this Pickman guy was a serial killer. Basically painted the place with the insides of Raiders.There were pieces of them everywhere, and paintings of them in death. It was wild.”

He chuckled at that. “God damn, that’s brutal.” 

“Honestly, good for him,” Sunny shrugged. “Might not be a pretty way to do it, but he was doing the people of the commonwealth a favor. Got a sweet knife out of helping him, too.”

Hancock slid his eyes over to her at that and smiled affably. “Too true. Well, thanks for checking it out. There’s caps over there somewhere.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the desk.

“No, no way are you paying me,” she kicked her feet up on the coffee table. Hancock, too high to protest or drag himself over to the desk, grumbled contentedly and closed his eyes again. 

Sunny liked Hancock. He was fun. He’d endeared himself to her the moment he stabbed the guy trying to extort her a couple months back. She’d been ready to shoot the little bastard between the eyes, but then Hancock had showed up and stuck the man like a pig. Three times. She’d felt herself grinning as Hancock introduced himself. He’d given her a tour of Goodneighbor, they’d toured the selection at the Third Rail, and then she’d given him a tour of herself. Since then, that had been their relationship. It was easygoing, noncommittal. Once in a while, she’d take care of a job for him. Once in a while, he’d take care of some business of hers. It was just right. He didn’t get clingy or weird, didn’t get squishy and sentimental. He was sarcastic, witty, unbiased, and just the right amount of mean in a fight. As for the ghoul thing...Didn’t really bother her one bit. The equipment was there and worked fine.

Most nights when they hung out, they just drank and smoked and shot the shit. Before he’d been ghoulified, he was much like her. Young, dumb, and full of - well, maybe not like her in that regard. But he understood her.

“I’m going to crash here tonight,” she told him, lighting a cigarette and sucking in a long drag. “I’ve got business with the Brotherhood tomorrow.” 

Hancock raised what used to be an eyebrow. “Do you really, or are you just finding an excuse to dangle yourself in front of that big ape again?” 

She threw back her head and laughed. She’d told Hancock about her little tryst, and he’d been both greatly amused and a little turned on. He’d taken it as a challenge to do better, but… bless him for trying, there was no matching _that._

“No, I really do. I promised them I’d track down their missing patrol, and I finally got around to it. Time to report in.” 

She was being casual with her words, but just the memory of her encounter with Maxson was enough to make her stomach clench. She’d walked around the wasteland feeling like she’d taken a blow from a baseball bat between her legs for two days after. _What a man._

Nate had been...an okay lover. It was your typical situation of it was great, when it was new and he was trying harder. There was a clumsiness to everything he did, though. Too much teeth when kissing, too much tongue when dining at the Y, never able to keep a rhythm for long. It had been fine, for a while. Like eating a peanut butter sandwich when you were starving. Eventually you get real fuckin’ tired of peanut butter sandwiches and real fuckin’ tired of starving. And then it turns out your peanut butter sandwich prefers the company of strippers, and you get your unlimited shopping card back. She was thinking about sandwiches way too much. Clearly she was hungry. For food, not...that. Okay, maybe that, too. But she wasn’t about to turn Hancock into a snack. Not tonight. She had hopes for her visit to the Prydwen, and she wasn’t about to double up the bread.

She dragged herself off of the couch and down the stairs to the kitchen with a sigh, the anticipation of her churning thoughts making her ache in a very literal way.

-

  
  
  


After chatting with Captain Kells, Sunny meandered about the Prydwen, looking for excuses to lurk. Maxson, as always, was incredibly busy. He was in his usual location on the Command Deck, but each time she managed to sneak a peek in there, he was taking someone’s report or discussing matters with one of his officers. He didn’t so much as look at her, and there was _no way_ he hadn’t seen her or heard she was on deck. Arthur Maxson knew the second a bird landed on the nose of the Prydwen. This had to be another one of his games, and it made her a little peevish. But she controlled herself, refusing to play into it, and instead headed to the main deck to tinker with her power armor mods. If he wanted to play the aloof game, fine. She would play it, too.

She was working on un-fucking a jammed piston in the left leg of her suit, late into the night, when she heard his steps behind her. She didn’t look up, and went back to prying at the seized piece with her standard screwdriver. 

“Paladin. You’ve been gone a while.” 

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy,” she answered, biting her lip as her levering began to pay off and the piston assembly began to release from it’s locked position.

“Stand at attention, soldier,” his voice was hard, but even. She paused, looking up as his shadow fell over her. His mouth was grim, but his eyes were amused. She lowered her screwdriver to the floor and then slowly rose to her feet, shoulders back and chin raised in defiance. She watched him drink her in, his gaze moving from her feet to the BDUs resting low on her hips, to the white undershirt molded to her body. She’d gone braless, a deliberate machination, and fought the smirk at her lips when she saw his eyes linger at her chest much longer than necessary. She’d been blessed in that department, in both volume and shape, and knew the effect they had on him. When he finally met her eyes, she had to force herself not to look away. There was a lust for her there that matched her own for him. So, he _hadn’t_ forgotten about that night in his room either. Casually, she brought her dirty hands up and wiped them on her undershirt - not so much cleaning them as gliding them over her herself in a manner that was nothing but suggestive. The vein in his forehead was throbbing again, his little tell of the turmoil raging inside him.

“Does the _Elder_ require something of me, or did he simply run out of flies to pull the wings from?” She let the words come out just a little snide. 

“Actually,” he said in a frighteningly soft tone, “I do. Accompany me to the forecasatle, Paladin. Your project here can wait.” 

Ah, so it was business as usual then. 

“Lead the way, _sir,_ ” she said with a mocking salute. He regarded her through furrowed brows, before heading to the deck ladder.

It was a very dark night, the sky was moonless and forbidding. The lights of the flight deck were the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. It was cold, too - winds whistling through the structure of the Prydwen and cutting through her thin undershirt. Boy, she regretted her choice to go braless now. Her nipples were as hard and cold as marbles, and she folded over her chest and shivered as she followed Maxson down the gangway paths. He seemed cozy enough, in his thick armored coat. He led her all the way to the rear of the great ship, where the handrails tapered to a point. You could see the entire commonwealth from here. She knew the spot well - it was her favorite sniper’s roost, and sometimes she would sit up here with the .50 BMG and pick off super mutants below. It was good fun. Why Maxson had dragged her out here, though, she didn’t know. Maybe sniping super mutants from the Prydwen was an unsanctioned activity and she was in trouble again. What a lovely thought.

She ventured to the point, looking down below them, searching for what he might have planned to show her - but below them, the commonwealth was quiet and unremarkable. She jumped when his powerful arms encircled her, pulling her to him. She allowed the contact, her heart beating wildly in her throat at his proximity and the heat of his body beneath his coat. The warmth was a blessed relief, though she shivered again despite it. 

“Cold?” he asked, his hands rising to cover each breast. Finding her peaked nipples, he chuckled and began to circle each one with a thumb. She let her head fall back, leaning into him, closing her eyes and her lips parting in pleasure at the contact. She’d thought about him over and over and _over_ since their last encounter. He was damnably preoccupying. 

“My people tell me you’ve been spending a lot of time in Goodneighbor of late,” he commented, voice smooth as silk, not stopping the motion of his thumbs. “In company that is hardly becoming of a soldier of the Brotherhood.” 

She stiffened against him, eyes flying open. He abruptly ceased what he was doing, and pushed her from him. She turned and faced him, her back to the apex of the two handrails. His face looked _furious_. 

“What I do with my free time is none of your concern,” she snapped at him. “I am not some piece of equipment to be _owned_ by the Brotherhood, like a rifle or a pair of boots.” 

“When you are out there, among the people, you are representing us all,” he growled, stepping closer to her. 

She laughed, her hair whipping about her in the freezing wind. “I represent nobody but myself. You should know that by now.” 

She was tall, but he was taller. The lines of his broad shoulders blocked out the dim exterior lights of the Prydwen as he took another step towards her. She flinched back a step reflexively. She couldn’t tell if he wanted to fuck her or kill her, and the uncertainty of the situation was turning her insides to liquid.

“I cannot for the life of me figure out why I tolerate this behavior from you,” he snarled. “If you were anyone else, you’d be nothing but a bloody smear on the ground by now.”

“So do it,” she dared. “Toss me over this rail and watch me twist in the wind all the way down. Or try to,” she added, an arrogant smile spreading across her face.

Rage and lust warred across his face, and with an angry sound deep in his throat he closed the distance between them. She had no time to react. He was on her in a second, both hands buried in her hair as his mouth closed over hers. Her lips opened involuntarily against the onslaught of his violent kiss, and his tongue filled her mouth - twining around hers. She grabbed two fistfulls of his hair in turn, halfheartedly trying to pull him away, but he was strong. She might as well have been trying to pull an ocean liner to port with her bare hands. His neck didn’t bend at the pressure even a fraction. The kissing was more intimacy than she’d expected. She had rather liked feeling as though she were an article used for his pleasure and then discarded. But this kissing was _good_. It was as hard and unforgiving as his body. Her hands roamed over the latter, guessing at what had been denied her thus far. Christ, he must look good naked. He was wearing a black flight suit under his coat today, and her fingers sought the zipper at his neckline. He grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away. She fought him, but lost. 

Still holding her wrists - now with one large hand - he lifted her arms up over her head. With his other hand, he pulled her grease-covered white undershirt up and over her head. She shivered at the cold wind, goosebumps covering her torso at the unwelcome temperature shocking her skin. Her nipples were so hard now they _hurt_. Her eyes cast about them, wondering if anyone was standing guard and seeing this happening. 

He pulled her to him, crushing her shaking form against his chest. He nipped at her neck and she yelped at the sharpness of his teeth, before his lips closed around the spot and his hot tongue lapped at her, burning against her icy skin. 

“Did you fuck him?” he whispered into her ear. 

“Did I fuck _who_?” She was cold, confused, and incredibly turned on. 

“Your _disgusting_ ghoul friend,” he replied, tone tight and furious. Was he... _jealous_?

“So what if I did?” she sneered, trying to pull away, pushing her hands against his solid chest. He released her without a word, shoving her shoulder and spinning her away from him. A hand grabbed her by the hair, pushing her forward until she was bent at the waist and leaning over the rails, looking breathlessly down at the ground far below. She gripped the railing on either side of her tightly, chest heaving. The Prydwen undulated gently in the wind currents. At this height, one wrong slip and she’d be over the rail. Adrenaline mixed with the endorphins coursed through her, and she pressed back into him. 

“Fraternization with such _commonwealth citizens_ is expressly forbidden, Paladin,” he growled from behind her. She only laughed again. 

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave,” his hand was on her hip, gripping her tightly.

“I fucking _want it_ ,” she groaned. 

He yanked her BDUs and panties down, letting them fall about her knees. _Now it was realllllly fucking cold._ She couldn’t stop her legs from shaking - and was not entirely sure if it was due to the cold or something else. There was no foreplay this time. No readying her with expert fingers. Not that she needed it. She was soaking wet from his aggression, and he knew it. He kept his hand wound tightly in her hair, keeping her head drawn back so that her waist angled just right. He bent her knees slightly with the toe of one boot, bringing her ass down to his level. She heard the long unzipping of his flight suit and wished desperately she could have a peek at what lay underneath, but the hand keeping her head pinioned in place was unrelenting. 

“Cover your mouth,” he commanded her. She obeyed, clapping a hand over her mouth just in time. He penetrated her with little warning; only the momentary contact of his swollen head against her shivering thighs before he positioned himself and slid right into her like warm butter. She was glad she’d covered her mouth, because the abuse of his enormous cock stretching and parting her forced a scream that was half moan out of her. She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of - falling to her death or being split in two like a piece of kindling. He let out a long hiss through his teeth at the tightness of her, taking a moment to adjust to it before finally moving. He rocked his hips, the sensation of him inside her utterly decadent. His cock had just the right curve to it, hitting every nerve at the exactly right angle. She could feel every engorged vein and every excited pulse through his member as he fucked her. She felt herself slowly relax around him, elongating to encompass him, as he drove deeper into her. His pace was somewhat slower this time, but no less punishing. She kept her hand over her mouth, unable to keep quiet without some help.

After a while he released her hair, instead reaching around the front of her and locating her clit with probing fingers. She wiggled when he found it, twisting from the contact against the incredibly sensitive surface. His fingers slid around and down, into her folds, nestling into the wetness of her before returning them and rubbing the pads of his fingers against her in alternating circles. The slickness of his fingers and the pressure behind them made her dizzy. All the while, he fucked her - bouncing her on him rather than pumping into her. His hand, tightly gripping her hip, moved her about however he pleased. 

“You’ll never want anyone like you want me,” he declared as she neared climax. “No matter who you let fuck you, you’ll think about me the entire time. Won’t you.” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement, but she couldn’t resist a protest.

“You’re...okay…” she panted around the impending tremors. “I’ve had...worse.” 

He chuckled low in his throat at that, removing his hand from her and slowly pulling out. _God damn it, not again, not now._ But rather than stop, he instead pressed himself between her thighs and began to stroke her with the head of his cock rather than his fingers. He was drenched from her, the dome glistening wetly between her legs when she looked down, and she whimpered as the buildup resumed. She angled her hips for the most friction possible, moaning as he took a nipple in each hand - pinching and rubbing them as her body went rigid with her orgasm.

“Liar,” he hissed into her ear, sending shivers down the length of her spine. He turned her around to face him. “Step out of your boots” 

She obliged, stepping out of one and then the other - wincing when the second boot landed too close to the edge and went over the side. She was entirely naked now, save for her socks. He drank her in for a moment before placing his hands around her waist and lifting her easily. She wrapped her legs around him, and he pressed her back into the handrail for support before entering her again. He stifled her gasp with a hard kiss, and began to fuck her in earnest. He drove into her with the same incredible strength he’d had before, and she was almost paralyzed with fear that he’d break the railing and they’d both plummet to their deaths. He was unconcerned as he savaged her, biting one of her nipples gently while pummeling her. He grew close, holding back and lengthening his strokes to prolong the enjoyment. She brought his face to hers, kissing him hard, then biting and sucking on his lower lip while tightening her walls around him as hard as she could. He gasped in surprise, and lost control. He pushed himself as far inside her as he could go, the thick head of his cock pressing insistently against her cervix and making her cry out in pain. She felt the pulsing beat of his release, hot like lava inside her, and knew it would be just as much as before. 

“You may not be Brotherhood property,” he said softly, with one final thrust. “But this...this is _mine._ ” 

She buried her face in his neck, giggling somewhat deliriously with pleasure. 

“You make me fucking crazy,” he groaned into her neck as a shudder ran through his body and he shifted against her, allowing her to squeeze every last drop from him. He leaned into her, breathing hard, and she felt her lips curve into a small smile. She felt as though she’d won an argument, whatever it had even been about.

He leaned back, but kept her pinned - still halfway hard inside her. She touched his bared chest with her fingers, savoring his musculature. He might as well have been carved from granite. Well-formed pectorals and clearly defined abdominal muscles flexed under her touch. His chest hair was dark, but not too thick - gathering into a trail and leading down to where they were joined. Beneath her tightly clamped thighs, she could feel the cleft of an adonis belt where his body met his hips. Oh, but he was spectacular, wasn’t he? A mean, petulant, stubborn.. _.delicious_ creature. Reluctantly, he pulled himself from her and set her back on her feet.

“Stay in my quarters tonight,” he said. Not an order this time, but a request. “I want to wake up to this.” He trailed rough kisses up her throat, and she forgot how to breathe for a moment.

“People will see us,” she protested. 

“They will see what I tell them to see,” his Big Scary Commander voice returning. 

He shrugged off his heavy coat and threw it over her shoulders. She was dimly aware of the fact her clothes - all of them - had been shuffled off the platform at some point. Oops. He waited for her answer, and she nodded at last as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of his coat.

  
  


Maxson never asked for his coat back. After another rigorous session before duties resumed later that morning, she fell asleep again and he threw it over her buck naked self. She woke up, scrutinized the sheepskin lining against her cheek, and groaned. This was like some jock giving you his letterman jacket after an enthusiastic handjob under the bleachers... Not that she would know. She recognized it for what it was - an alpha male jackass trying to mark his territory. Disgustingly, she found it incredibly hot and kept the damn coat.

When she left the Prydwen that day, she noticed two things. One, the entire crew - a furiously blushing Danse included - looked at just about anything but her. Walls, floor, fixed points in space and time… but not her. Shit, Maxson wasn’t kidding. They saw what he told them to see. Thing two, he was staring at her like a half-starved tiger in a zoo. Holy shit. Maybe it was for the best that they didn’t see each other too often. Young and in shape or not, that confident son of a bitch would wear her out in a hurry. She felt his eyes on her as she fist-bumped a few of the crew and headed out. He was enjoying seeing her wear his coat. More than that, she could tell from the quirk of the corner of his mouth he knew how sore she was. He’d given her a couple things to remember him by. Bastard. Heat kindled inside her again just thinking about it. She’d be back, no way was she going to leave this fount of delightful dick untapped. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you like to play a game?
> 
> ______________________

Sunny intensely disliked Shaun. Not just a little, a lot. He was an arrogant little shit. That had been her immediate first impression. He talked to her as though she were stupid, looking all tidy and prim in his crisp white lab coat. He called her  _ mother. _ He looked just like his father. If there was any of his true mother to him, Sunny couldn’t say. All Sunny remembered was two enormous airbags, body glitter, and way too much spray tan. He’d babbled on about their great mission, yada yada for the good of mankind, and Sunny distracted herself by thinking about the way the small of Maxson’s back met at two dimples just above his wonderfully tight ass. Truly, she didn’t think about much else. She thought about the way his sweaty skin tasted under her tongue while she mowed down super mutants with a minigun. She thought about his beard scratching at her inner thighs while she threw molotov cocktails into a den of feral ghouls. She thought about dragging her nails down his back while he railed her so hard pictures fell from the wall. Yeah. She thought about him a lot. It was annoying. She found herself briefly considering putting a round between her not-my-son’s eyes so she had a good excuse to go back to the Prydwen. 

She was still wearing his coat, too. Partly to cover up the myriad of love bites, scratches, and bruising from big hands grabbing way too hard. But also, it was comfy. Shaun droned on about showing her the Institute wasn’t what she’d feared, and insisted she wander around and meet his staff. Which she did, reluctantly. She didn’t like scientists. They usually brought bad news with them, like… freaky creatures that shouldn’t exist, or nasty viruses like… FEV. Or, hmmm, let’s think about that for a second...nuclear wars. Scientists did crazy shit like freeze a person for 200 years, but that wasn’t really a grudge she was carrying. She was queen of the wasteland. It was a perfect world. No stoplights, no traffic, and absolute freedom. 

Not-her-son and his band of jackals, it turned out, were working on phasing out human beings. Like, entirely. They wanted to replace the messy organic population with a perfect - and controlled one - of synthetic beings. The Brotherhood had a solid point where the Institute was concerned. This kind of technology was designed and being used to finish what the nuclear bombs had started: wiping out human beings. She was pretty ok with the prospect of nuking them.

After her tour of the Institute, and being requested to drag a rogue synth back for them, she zapped right out of there and into Goodneighbor. She needed a stiff drink. Or two. Whitechapel Charlie was already pouring her a stiff one when she sauntered her way down the stairs. Bless him, he knew what a girl needed. She slid onto the stood and downed the first vodka on ice without further ado. Charlie poured another one, and she was gentler with it, swirling it around while warmth spread through her chest.

“Look who it is,” a familiar voice said, before Hancock hopped onto the stool beside her. “Been a while, sunshine.”

He loved calling her sunshine. Mostly due to the play on her name. 

“Good evening, my favorite jackass,” she greeted him, sipping her second drink like a delicate lady.

“You’ve been gone a few days. I was worried your boyfriend had tossed you off the ship. No new reports of falling debris, though, so I didn’t go lookin’.” 

“My boyfriend,” she snorted, sliding a beer down to Hancock who took it greedily. “Not you, too.”

“Not me too, what?” Hancock asked, whatever he had for brows raised. 

“Maxy boy got real jealous over my dalliances with you,” she felt a little hot twinge somewhere low at the memory.

“He knows?” Hancock about choked to death on his beer. “Sister, do I need to keep one eye open at night, now? I am not exactly aspiring to be the Brotherhood’s next target.” 

“Hush, you’re safe. If he brought any harm to you I’d kill him,” she said casually. Hancock gave a dubious grunt and drank his beer faster.

“If you say so,” he countered. “I’ve got the feeling he’s got more in mind for you than a casual toss in the hay.”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you’re not like any other damsel there is. Not here in the commonwealth, and not in the capital waste. He’s gonna wanna keep you for sure.” 

“Let’s hope he’s not operating under the assumption I can be kept,” she rolled her eyes and finished her second drink. 

“Can’t you?” Hancock asked softly, some of the humor gone from his voice, as he pushed the collar of the thick coat down and observed the trail of marks up her neck.

“Stop worrying so much, jesus christ, you sound like my mother,” Sunny grumbled, motioning Charlie for drink number three.

-

Hancock’s words buzzed about her skull all night. They bothered her. Is that what Maxson was after? She’d thought maybe there was whif of catching-feels the last time she’d seen him. While there had been no words of affection, no declarations of anything tangible… she’d had a feeling about it. And the way he’d laid his coat over her… Yeah. There was definitely something there. Sunny didn’t know how she felt about it. She’d managed to escape her mediocre marriage, woke up in this glorious new world, had all the caps and guns she could want. Did she  _ want _ for anything else? Decidedly not. She cringed at the idea of being someone’s little wife again. That was part of the appeal of Maxson. He was a hard, stiff prick - ha, literally - and she felt safe in their little arrangement. Or whatever you wanted to call it. Much like Hancock, she hadn’t felt worried about the future of it getting weird. Until Hancock opened his fat trap and ruined it.

She didn’t go back to the Prydwen. The next morning, nursing a nasty hangover, she dragged herself to the stupid flotila to find the stupid rogue synth and return him to the stupid Institute. Why face your problems head-on when you could just shoot raiders until you felt better and got out all your anger? They found the missing synth, wallowing in glory atop an old boat and living the raider life. After X6-88 disappeared in a flash of light with the deactivated synth, Sunny decided to head to Sanctuary. No Hancock to drop snide comments about her future as a Brotherhood royal, no Maxson to completely fragment her trains of thought. Just some good old fashioned R&R and quality Dogmeat time.

She was gone three days when the Prydwen started hailing her on her radio. She clicked it off. Then a vertibird landed in the middle of Sanctuary, nearly sending Mama Murphy rolling across the ground in the winds it kicked up. Groaning internally, Sunny climbed aboard and waved an apology to Mama, who was sitting on her ass in the middle of the carrot patch looking like she’d just landed in Oz. 

Maxson must have scared someone shitless, because as soon as they were aboard the Prydwen again, a nervous scribe informed her Maxson wished to see her and escorted her personally into the ship. 

The scribe left her in the doorway of Maxson’s quarters and disappeared in a puff of smoke. Maxson had his back to her. Sunny stepped through the doorway, tiptoeing for some bizarre reason.

“Close the door,” Maxson said quietly, closing the book he was skimming through. She was doing it again. She was thinking about her hands gripping those magnificent pecs tightly. Shit. She closed the door and waited.

“You come back from the Institute, and rather than report your findings to us… You scuttle off to Goodneighbor again the second you return.” 

“I needed a stiff drink,” Sunny offered in explanation.

“You found your son, then?” She cringed inwardly at his question. She hadn’t told a soul the truth still.

“About that… There is something you should probably know.” 

He turned at that, as always his eyes taking her in hungrily. She wondered what he thought about while he went about his day, and smirked. 

“What is it I should know, Paladin?” he asked softly. His voice was controlled, cool.

“He’s not...my son.” 

Maxson raised an eyebrow. She launched into an explanation - her marriage, walking out, the illegitimate child. The day the bombs fell. Maxson listened without interrupting, and when she was done at last he folded his arms over his chest.

“That explains a lot,” he mused, scrutinizing her.

“What does it explain?” She’d been waiting on a tirade, or anger, or...something. Not this bizarrely calm front.

His mouth spread into a slow smile. _ Well that was unnerving.  _

“Those perfect fucking tits of yours,” he said at last. She laughed in surprise, and he crossed the room to her with an alarming speed. He yanked his coat from her, nearly knocking her over with the ferocity of it, before setting to work on tearing off and throwing every article of clothing she had on underneath it. Her wardrobe had been taking one hell of a beating lately. This was a hazardous relationship to be in. 

He yanked his sweater over his head, unbuckled his belt and let his BDUs drop to the ground before kicking them - and his plated boots - to a far corner of the room. She watched him undress, desperately hungry for more of him. He had scars all across his body from years of battling things meaner than he was, and beating them. There was a thin layer of fat that overlaid his heavy muscle, giving him an imposing and thick stature that conveyed absolute power. He was a man whose body matched his position - unlike fat little politicians who wrote nanny laws. 

He shoved her against the wall so hard she bit her tongue. She moaned when he went straight to her nipples - the aforementioned  _ perfect fucking tits _ \- and sucked on each one like a man starved. 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she managed to get out around the onslaught. “Right? This is just… fucking.” _Stupid Hancock and his stupid words._

He paused at that, looking up at her with those fathomless dark eyes of his. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Now he was going to overthink things. He did not answer her. He rose to full height again and then pressed two fingers to her lower lip. She knew what he wanted, and obediently took them into her mouth, sucking on them, curling her tongue about them until he withdrew them again. He reached down with his newly wet fingers, stroking her with them, before slipping them into her one at a time. Her knees shook with the delightful intrusion. 

After a few moments of this, he stopped - withdrawing his hand and bending to lift her. One arm went behind each knee, lifting her so each knee joined at the crook of his elbows and her feet hung down to his sides. He kept her pressed to the wall for support, and she stopped breathing in anticipation as she felt him begin to push into her. He only let himself in about an inch, the thickest part of him opening her wider, before holding there and making her squirm. 

“Let’s play a game,” he suggested.

_“_ _ What?”  _ she demanded, panting. 

“For every question of mine you answer, I’ll give you a little more.” 

She tried to wiggle farther onto him, but pinioned as she was there was no way she could. 

“Fine, let’s play your stupid game.” her answer came out thin and bitchy.

“Good girl. Question one. Did you fuck your friend Hancock again?” 

_ Not this shit again. _ “No.” 

True to his word, he slid into her just a little farther. She growled in anger. She wanted more.

“Why not? Don’t lie, I’ll know if you lie. And if you lie, I take away what I just gave you and end the night with fucking your throat instead.” 

She whimpered in frustration and banged her head back against the wall. She  _ hated  _ this game. In response to her little fit, he withdrew the couple inches inside her and then returned them. Reminding her of what was at stake. Her nerve endings came alive, and her body screamed for more, more, more.

“I didn’t want to fuck him anymore. I wanted...you.” 

With a pleased noise, he seated himself another inch deeper. She made a hiccupy sort of moan in the back of her throat. _He was a fucking bastard. A jealous, nosy bastard._

“And if I wanted this...Wanted you...All the time, would you be mine? Only mine? To fuck any time I wanted?” His tone was light, inquisitive. He was enjoying this.  _ Ah, damn.  _ She was, too. She was a slip n slide around his cock.

“Why does that matter so much?” she said through clenched teeth.

“That’s not how the game works,” he admonished, withdrawing just a little.  _ Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.  _

“If that’s what it took,” she forced herself to answer, hating her weakness, "to get more of this...then fine. Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he grinned in a way that could best be described as devilish.

  
  


“Yes, I’d be yours.”

  
  


“That was the last question,” he informed her, as he crushed his lips to hers and gave her the full length of him. He was insanely hard from his little game. In this position, that was every single centimeter. It was hard to scream with his tongue filling her mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, unlike Maxson, I decided to wrap it up. I was hedging on where I wanted to go with this, but I want to keep it short, not too sweet, smutty, and free of angst or babies or romance. That's what the other fics are for. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! Your lovely comments helped me feel a hell of a lot less awkward about my writing. <3  
> __________________________________________________________________________________

For weeks, they danced around each other. Him pushing closer, she pulling as far away as she dared. Her attraction to him bordered on obsession at this point despite her best mental arguments with herself on the subject. She found more and more excuses to visit the Prydwen. If Kells wasn’t sick of her peppering him with mission requests, he would be soon. Her visits were often heralded by everyone finding an excuse to be somewhere far away from Maxson’s quarters. No doubt the thumping against the thin metal walls and crashing objects had become...traumatizing to the crew. Maxson did not seem to care one iota. He did as he pleased, and in true form his crew saw what he wanted them to.

Most of the time, after a long night of exploring every inch of her thoroughly, Maxson would rise before the sun and return to his duties as Elder. Sunny was not a morning person, especially not after being up all damn night, and could not for the life of her understand where the man got his energy. Well, he was only twenty, she had to remind herself each time she looked at the dark circles under her eyes. But she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to keep up with him. There was a tenuous line they both walked - a tug-of-rope strung between being equals and a fight for dominance. She had more than met his measure on the battlefield, but between the sheets it was entirely different and she knew it.

She didn’t know how to deal with him. Somehow he always got to her, always left her wanting more and questioning it. He was mercurial. Each session with him left her feeling as though he’d snatched another cookie from a jar while her back was turned. Shit, she was thinking about food again.

This particular morning, for whatever reason, he’d stayed in bed beside her. She lay on her side, lost in thought, hands beneath her cheek. She felt him stir, shift, turning over and molding his body to hers. An arm reached over her, encircling her and taking hold of one breast. She remained still, unsure if he was awake. When he spoke, his lips grazed against the back of her neck.

“We are making great progress with Liberty Prime. Soon, I think, we will be ready to take the fight to the Institute.”

“Yes,” she answered. “A few days to go, at most.”

“What will you do when it’s over?” He had that tone he got sometimes, the one that appeared when he had an ulterior motive.

“I don’t know. Take up farming corn, wearing overalls exclusively and losing all my teeth.” 

“You are many things, but a commonwealth farmer is not one of them.” His hand had begun to stray, fingers tracing lazy circles around her nipple.  _ For fuck’s sake it’s hard enough to have a conversation with you and then you start this up again. _

“No? Then what am I?” she was falling into the trap again. 

“You belong here, with the Brotherhood. You were made for greater things than a mediocre life of squalor.” 

“Are you sure you’re not just saying this because you want me to stay with  _ you? _ ” Her body was curving tighter against him of its own accord. His hand roamed lower - fingers tracing the indent of her abdominal muscles, leading down to her navel. She felt him growing hard against her, his cock rising to the occasion before it.  _ Lord, but he had stamina.  _ She was still aching and swollen from just a few hours ago.

“Would it be so terrible,” he queried, now focusing on the little triangle of soft skin where her hip and groin met the top of her thigh. She shivered at his exploring fingers. “To stay aboard this ship with me?” He slid a hand under her thigh, lifting her leg up and over, so it lay over him and granted him ease of access to her.

“What would the point be?” she bit her lip as his hand slid between her thighs and he ground against her from behind. “Stick around so I can shoot at muties and ghouls on occasional patrols?”

“You would be more than that,” he growled as he gently bit the nape of her neck. He rocked his hips just a little, his head rubbing against her wet and still-tender opening. The thought of him filling her again was terrifying and exhilarating. There was an angry, throbbing heartbeat between her legs.

“No,” she breathed out desperately. His movement stilled.

“No to this, or no to staying?” he whispered in her ear. His hot breath and his beard tickling her neck. 

“Yes. I mean, to this. Don’t ask me to stay. I don’t have the answer to that yet.” He had a way of making her forget how to speak. 

Satisfied for the moment, he returned to his work. She arched into him as he slid his index and middle fingers down around the sides of her clit before bringing them close together again, isolating her and working them in a scissoring motion. Shit,  _ he never runs out of new tricks.  _ She shuddered and moaned as she neared orgasm, and he continued to suck and bite at the sensitive nape of her neck. He waited until she was mid-climax, her walls constricting tightly, to push into her. She spasmed and squirmed as he filled her, finishing in breathless gasps around him. He grumbled from somewhere deep in his chest as his fingers explored lower, feeling himself buried in her. His fingertips traced her labia stretched around his thick cock, sticky and swollen, and he withdrew a little - stroking the exposed length of his shaft, drenched from her. She let out a needy whine, and he accommodated her by resuming long, steady thrusts. 

He took his sweet time with her. He always did. Every muscle in her body ached from the rigors of the night before, but damn if it didn’t respond to him with the same unmatched enthusiasm it always did. Each time he hit bottom, she let out a little cry. He seemed to enjoy making her whimper, and picked up the pace - pounding harder and harder until she pulled the pillow onto her face for lack of something better to scream into. He let out a mix of a snarl and a groan as he climaxed, punctuating each burst of hot come into her with another hard thrust - his grip on her thigh so tight she knew it would leave a trail of bruised fingerprints. 

Rather than stay inside her until the aftershocks subsided, she felt him pull out - still hard, sticky and wet. She felt wetness leaking out from her with his withdrawal, and he rubbed the head of his cock into the mess, slathering her lips with it. She was half-mad with the lust he incited in her, moaning at this new sensation and slick with his fluids. She clutched at him desperately, not wanting him to leave her. Encouraged, he thrust back into her and made the most of his remaining hard-on. He fucked her more gently this time, helping her finish a second time with his hand as well as well as his cock. She was nearly in tears from the endorphin high and sheer exhaustion as she felt the reluctant tremors course through her again, and when they started he stopped thrusting - staying still inside her and following her to the end with his fingers in a rare show of mercy. 

“You’ll stay,” he said as they lay there in the afterglow. He was absently kneading the muscles in her shoulders with an unusual tenderness, and she tensed at his words but did not protest them. “You know as well as I do that what lies between us is different. You are as drawn to me as I am to you. You’ll stay.”  _ That arrogant ass was probably right. _

She _liked_ him, she realized, as he continued working at her sore muscles and she melted a little into the contact. There was something about him that fit her, like a puzzle piece. It wasn’t only the intense sexual chemistry. They had, to this point, only allowed for the chemical part of themselves. It was always after the satisfying of their baser instincts, when they lay here like this, that it felt different. The air was charged with the one thing Sunny continued to refuse to acknowledge. But he was softening her to his will, little by little, and she found herself loathe to continue fighting it.

There was a knock at the door, followed by a deeply uncomfortable cough. Maxson growled and reluctantly rolled from the bed, dragging a tousled blanket over Sunny. He answered the door with nothing but a sheet pulled low around his hips, and she caught a flash of a mortified Proctor Quinlan holding the day’s briefing out to Maxson while staring at a fixed point on the ceiling.

“Sir, I am sorry to disturb you, but it’s, ah, half past noon. We wanted to ensure you got the... _ rest _ ...you needed, but there are some very pressing matters to discuss.” 

“I’m busy with another very pressing matter,” Maxson rumbled at him. He was toying with the man. Quinlan blanched in his effort to keep his eyes up. 

“ _Sir,_ I assure you, it is _most_ pressing.” 

“Very well,” Maxson snapped. “I will be out shortly.” he slammed the door - nearly hitting Quinlan’s pointy little nose - and resigned himself to dressing. Sunny roused herself from the bed as well, searching about the floor and under the bed for her clothes. She needed a shower, a fresh set of clothing, and to head out. She had some nukes to locate.

She was still looking when she felt him standing behind her. She turned, and saw he was holding out her panties - dangling from one finger. She snatched them from him and he smirked. Before she could turn away, he pulled her close and planted a scratchy kiss on her forehead. And then he was gone, out the door and off to his muster.  _ Ugh. _

  
  


-

Days later, they stood atop the Mass Fusion building watching ash from the explosion rain down on the scene below. The others had grown bored of watching after the initial blast, and only Sunny and Maxson still stood at the rail. The Institute was gone, smoke rising from the collapsed hole in the ground where it had been. Goodbye weird scientists, goodbye to that fucking dick Ayo, and goodbye to not-her-son. It had been immensely satisfying in the end, looking down at that sniveling prick and informing him she was actually not related to him at all and his father had been a sackless twat. 

Something brushed at her, and she looked down in surprise to see Maxson’s fingers grazing her own, in an age-old middle school symbol for handholding. She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes, and found a mix of emotions there. Admiration, pride, lust, and...affection. She didn’t think the Big Scary Commander had it in him. She made a decision, then, turning her hand to catch his in return. Their fingers intertwined. 

_ She would stay.  _


End file.
